


Bought

by Ladycat



Series: Treasure'verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Conditioning, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike looks down his nose, which is impressive since Spike is shorter than both Xander and his father, and says, "The price just dropped, mate. Two thousand. How much is it worth to get this boy out of your hair?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bought

**Author's Note:**

> A very young Xander is bought by Spike and his father Giles. Contains a serious potential squick regarding pedophilia, so please don't read if that bothers you.

I want it to be human!au, because that makes me happier and the Giles's have just moved to Sunnydale. They are fabulously wealthy and just-this-side-of-callus

They happen to see one of their employees, a tony Harris, having a spat with his fifteen year old son, Xander. It's a frightening row about money and how worthless Xander is, so Spike steps up and says fine, if he's so worthless -- let me make it worth your while because he is pretty and Spike is used to getting what he wants and right now what he wants is Xander. Just cause.

Xander is rather shell-shocked by this because his father agrees and demands lots of money. He doesn't seem to react at all when Spike takes him by the arm, pulling him away from his father's reach

Spike looks him over, not unkindly, but very much an assessment that weighs both pros and cons to taking a new boy into the family. Then he offers Tony three thousand dollars for Xander's legal guardianship to be transferred to his father.

Tony is starting to stutter now, because he isn't really expecting this. Spike is crass and rude, normally, and right now he's acting suave and very much the little lordling that is going to get his way. So he says, "Three thousand?"

Spike looks down his nose, which is impressive since Spike is shorter than both Xander and his father, and says, "The price just dropped, mate. Two thousand. How much is it worth to get this boy out of your hair?"

His phrasing is deliberate, but he doesn't think Xander's in any kind of position to under stand the subtle reassurance. He's just standing there, staring, looking as if the world is crumbling underneath him like sandcastles destroyed by rising tide. He doesn't even object when Spike puts his arm around him, just as reassurance that's all. If anything, he leans closer to Spike which convinces him that this is exactly the right thing to do. Tony Harris has no idea how to appreciate a boy as beautiful as this one and Spike -- and his father -- very much will.

Tony is turning pale, now, spluttering about lawyers and fees and all kinds of things. Spike just shrugs. "I want his legal papers, Mr. Harris, and be certain that you will not stop me from getting them. I'll have my father contact you. In the mean time, I'm taking Xander with me to ensure that he is well-fed for the night."

Tony, predictably, makes noises about the police. Spike dismisses that with a single comment about Tony really wanting to take on the Giles Family Lawyer.

Xander winces at the audible capitals and looks very young.

Tony also flinches and says, "Fine, three thousand and you don't even have to give him back when you get bored with him."

The implications of that are clear as a bell, Xander practically shriveling inside his own skin -- but he doesn't pull out of Spike's protective hold. He just cuddles closer, his face flaming and his body ...

Mentally, Spike grins and congratulates himself on a perfect find. The rest of him, however, is furious at Mr. Harris' actions and intends to make very certain that he gathers evidence of abuse -- something Spike is absolutely certain has occurred -- is provable as contingency.

Sulking, but beaten, Tony finally makes a sneering comment at Xander and then stomps off. Spike waits about thirty seconds before guiding Xander into a chair. "Wait here," he says gently. "Back in just a moment."

He finds the whiskey decanter is father leaves in strategic places around the office -- Rupert Giles is famous for his indulgence when it comes to efficient and successful employees -- and pours Xander at least three fingers worth of alcohol. The boy gags when he drinks it, red spots immediately burning in his cheeks and his eyes going glassy by the third and final swallow.

It's a little soon, but ... Spike's never been particularly patient. Sitting down next to Xander, Spike wraps his arm around the boy's waist and encourages him to lean on Spike's shoulder. "Better now, pet?" he asks. "Can't say you're losing much with that wanker. Mum any better?"

Xander shakes his head. "He ... for only ... " The words clearly aren't an answer to Spike's question, but after a few seconds, Xander shakes his whole body a little. "Um. No. I mean, she doesn't, um, try to sell me, or anything, but she's ..."

Probably as much of a drunken sot as her husband is, Spike surmises. Xander's swaying lightly even as he leans, and he doesn't make a sound when Spike begins rubbing his belly in what is ostensibly a soothing motion. Spike, again mentally, grins. Perfect. "Well, it's not like you'll never see them again. Not unless you want to, pet. Dad'll sort everything out, don't worry. Get you cleaned up and fed, all the things a Da is supposed to do for you."

Xander hiccups a little as he breathes and, releasing his belly, Spike pours and feeds another few fingers of whiskey to him. This time, when he strokes the boy's stomach it's not ostensibly anything -- it's a caress, with highly sexual overtones that are confirmed when Spike cups between Xander's legs.

Xander doesn't flinch. He moans.

Oh yes, Spike thinks as he continues murmuring and gentling him. Dad was going to love this new edition.

When Xander's breathing starts to even out, Spike carefully palms his cell phone out of his pocket. "Dad," he says, quietly enough that he won't disturb Xander. He knows that the slightest bit of reality is going to jolt Xander into remembering just why being drunk with someone who is basically his new owner is a very bad thing. But right now Xander is warm and pliant, breathing softly against Spike's shoulder, and curling closer to him like he's been as affection-starved as Spike suspects.

"William?" Only his father gets away with calling Spike 'Will'. "I thought you were coming home an hour ago."

"Sorry, Dad, but something came up. Can you send over the limo?"

Rupert Giles isn't a man who asks questions without first doing a little bit of research, first. Spike can hear him accessing the computer, probably doing all kinds of checks that Spike can't manage on his own -- computers are things to curse at, not value. He's more of a people person, something his father fully understands and is quite happy to make use of. "Of course. I'll be waiting in the dining room," he says after a long series of clicks and clacks. "Shall I have anything prepared?"

"Warm clothes an' that fuzzy blanket mom left. Some supper might be good too -- something filling. He's a bit on the too-thin side."

"Of course. William ... are you certain about this?"

Spike shifts a little, smiling as Xander curls up against his chest, one arm clinging to Spike like he's a fantasy Xander's terrified will disappear when he wakes. "Definitely. You'll see when we arrive."

"Very well. An hour, then."

Spike clicks off and waits another twenty minutes before gently shaking the boy. "Xander? Xander, come on, wake up." Bleary, blood-shot eyes blink up at him, pupils hugely dilated. Xander's not processing anything at all, Spike knows. "Come on, pet. Up you go, that's right. Lean on me, now."

Xander is surprisingly heavy as he leans against Spike, far heavier than his lanky, underfed frame suggests -- it's reassuring. Tony is an unmitigated bastard who no doubt smacks his son around, but Spike really doesn't want to put up with someone all _that_ neglected. It makes them too grateful, and annoyingly eager. Spike -- and his father -- prefer to awe and woo, not already have their battles half fought and a different kind of war looming on the horizon.

"Gotta," the boy murmurs as they head out the door. "Home. Gotta ... go home."

"We are going home, Xander," Spike tells him kindly.

"Home?" Xander head lifts, blinking as he takes in the limo and the crappy little bike Xander had rode over to the building. "Home's there," he points.

"Of course, pet. Come on, in you go. Need a bit of coffee," laced, of course; Spike wants him tipsy, not outright drunk, "and something to eat. You are hungry, aren't you?"

It's easier than Spike expects to get Xander into the car, particularly after Wesley -- an old family retainer and well versed in his employer's habits -- slides the ratty, banged up bike into the drunk of the limo. Inside, Spike lifts an arm without a verbal request, pleased when Xander immediately grafts himself back to Spike's side. Spike immediately places his hand over the boy's groin. He isn't stroking, just holding it there as they wind their way through the streets, allowing his heat and pressure to affect the boy.

Dad is waiting for them when they arrive. He smiles at them, the picture of the kindly old Englishman who does everything too properly and speaks too correctly, holding out a thick sweater Spike recognizes as his own -- one far too big and used as something to lounge around in when he's not going out. _Clever_ , Spike thinks as the two of them encourage Xander to put the sweater on.

"Something to drink?" Dad asks, leading them not into the dining room but the family room. There are several tureens of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Spike raises an eyebrow at his father, over Xander's head; Dad just quirks a quick smile. Ah. Dad's done more research, then.

Xander's eyes flit over the room, taking in the understated elegance of squashy, comfortable chairs, an entertainment center high-tech enough to grace Steve Jobs' home, and the low lighting. Spike doesn't think he really _sees_ any of this, just registering Money and starting to remember that he has none and doesn't belong here.

Fixing that is simple enough.

"Coffee?" he asks, knowing Dad will understand what else he's supposed to put in the drink. When Dad nods, Spike takes Xander's hand and leads him towards the sofa.

"Oh! Um. Maybe I should l-l-leave?" The stutter is completely endearing, as is the growing panic behind bruise-dark eyes. He doesn't struggle when Spike pushes him into the sofa's embrace, though. "Home. It's late, and I should go home. Mom will -- " his voice catches.

Spike sits beside him, sliding one arm around his waist again, the other hand cupping between the boy's legs and rubbing lightly. "Easy now, pet. Have some supper, okay? You look hungry and Dad's cooked up a whole spread for us."

Well, Fred's done most of the cooking, but Xander can learn about that later. Right now the goal is to not overwhelm Xander. "Um?" he says, staring cross-eyed at the food. "Th-that looks g-g-g-g-good."

"Here you are." Dad looks so thoroughly genial that Spike has to bite his lip to stop laughing. He passes over the mug to Xander, watching approvingly as Xander takes an immediate swallow. "Hello, Xander. I'm Rupert Giles, Spike's father. I was wondering if you could perhaps help explain your bizarre version of footie to me? I understand there's a playoff game tonight ... "

Xander rouses a little at that. Under the gentle manipulations of both Giles men he begins to eat, discussing football versus soccer -- which he is surprisingly well versed in, to Spike's appreciation -- and the importance of tonight's wild-card game. He doesn't ever grow as animated as a normal fifteen year old boy should be in the face of such flattering attention, but it's enough that Spike relaxes a little.

The entire game, all four quarters, Spike's hand never leaves Xander's groin. The boy's cock is hard and aching by half time and there's a hunted quality to his eyes -- but every time he thinks about asking, or shifting away, he is distracted away from doing either. By the end of the third quarter he is trying not to pant or thrust into Spike's palm, miserably embarrassed and confused as to why no one mentioned the near hand-job he is receiving.

Dad is so _good_ at this, Spike thinks, pleased, and reassured that Dad does appreciate his choice. They'd been on the look out, of course, but this is a true treasure. Spike trails a finger nail down the seam of Xander's zipper, right over Xander's ball sac, mentally grinning when Xander finally gave up and moaned slightly.

Spike hums under his breath, a light sound that matches Xander's moan, normalizing it. The boy is truly panting now and doesn't really notice when Dad sits next to him, gently nudging him to lean more closely against Spike.

"I've spoken with Tony," Dad says. His attention is seemingly focused on the game. "We can expedite this unpleasant business within a few days, I think. Charles Gunn, our lawyer, is very good."

Spike makes eyes at his father. This is too soon! But Xander isn't reacting to Rupert's words, he's limply rocking into Spike's hand, like he's unable to stop himself but he really doesn't want to. Spike solves that problem by forcing Xander's torso away from the sofa long enough that Dad can thread his arm around the boy's waist as well. Xander is firmly squashed between them, now, his legs splayed against and almost over their thighs. It's obscene, really, but Spike loves it. Xander looks so young like this, barely able to understand all the messages his body is sending to his brain, face flushed with red and a bare beginning of sweat as he lets Spike unzip his trousers and begin truly playing with his cock.

"I think," Dad says in that authoritative way of his, "that you've been a very brave boy, Xander. And a very good boy. You've wanted to be a good boy, haven't you? Of course you have. A good boy for your father. But it's going to be different now, pet, because I am the kind of father who appreciates good boys. You don't have to always succeed, because you're very young, aren't you? Just a little boy. So it's time someone takes care of you. Gives you a nice room, and tutors, fine clothes. You'd like that, wouldn't you? There's a boy."

While he speaks, Spike tugs and strokes Xander's cock, smearing his palm with the growing mess of precome on the tip. Dad, meanwhile, is swaying imperceptibly, rocking Xander just a little while he speaks, the football game with its tinny cheers white noise in the background.

"We'll take care of you, Xander," Dad tells him. "Your new brother and I will take very good care of you, because you're a good boy. A sweet boy. And you taste... " Dad leans forward, unable to stop himself from kissing the boy's ear. Xander jerks at the sensation, but doesn't object. "You taste delicious, Xander. It feels good, what your brother is doing, doesn't it? You're being so good for us, wonderfully obedient. That's it, now, pet."

Spike can feel the tremors before Xander's breathing starts to hitch and adds his own voice. "That's right, precious," he croons, seductive to Dad's more fatherly expectancy. "You've been so good for me, pet. Do you want to, Xander? Want to be a good boy for me? I can tell you how, pretty. Shall I? Do you want to know?"

Xander's whimpering with now, little breathy whines from the back of his throat, his eyes half closed as he lets his body be played with. He does manage to nod, though, hips jerking more purposefully as he's given a chance to gain more approval.

"I knew you would, pet," Spike tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I want you to come for me, Xander. Can you do that for me? For your new Dad and your new brother? Will you be a good boy for us?"

Xander opens his mouth like he's about to speak, gasps, and as Spike quickens his rhythm to something a man can actually get off on -- arches back like a bow and comes with an aching little cry.

He sobs a little as he spills himself over Spike's hand. Dad and Spike both react immediately, crooning reassurances and approval while Xander is cleaned up and fed more alcohol -- unlaced, this time -- so that he's kept pliant and dazed. 

He blinks up at them, smiling shyly whenever he's told that he was a good boy. The back of his eyes are wary, though, full of confused calculation; it's expected. Only very young children are so easy to manipulate without any real distrust, but their tastes have never run to true pedophilia. Boys not quite of age, not truly men yet are what interest them, not actual children, a distinction that keeps them morally content. But Xander's confusion and distrust are muted from the orgasm and the alcohol and he doesn't object as he's bundled up into what Dad says will be his own room, once it's made up and decorated to Xander's specifications.

Xander doesn't even see the toys already inside, eyes focused on the bed exclusively. Spike helps over to the mattress -- Xander's legs aren't working properly -- removing shoes and socks and jeans, but leaving the sweater and stained boxers still on. Then he tucks Xander under the covers, enjoying the way he blinks so sweetly as Spike smooths his mother's blanket over Xander's body, petting his hair and explaining the emotional significance.

Xander yawns midway through the production, eyes starting to droop. "There's a good boy," Dad says from the doorway. "Go to sleep, now, Xander. We'll be right across the hallway if you need."

Spike brings breakfast in the morning, setting it down on the night stand before seating himself on the bed. Xander looks far younger like this, half-curled under Spike’s mother’s blanket, a hint of pink-flushed cheek visible under the thatch of dark hair. Just the little boy Dad so enjoys calling him. Spike enjoys it too, of course, but since he’s inherited none of his father’s great height it becomes awkward when the boy in question is a good few inches the taller.

Almost absently, Spike reaches out to caress the lump of blanket that is Xander’s shoulder, drawing the backs of his fingers up to brush against whatever sleep-warm skin is visible. Xander starts, dazed brown eyes opening wandering over the room in a distracted fashion until—

He can move _far_ faster than Spike’s expected.

“Hey, whoa, there,” Spike says, hands up as he slowly backs away from the bed. Xander hasn’t left the confines of the sheets, yet, but from the way his gaze darts back and forth Spike knows it’s only a matter of time before the boy _truly_ bolts. “Not gonna hurt you, pet. Now, then, want some breakfast? S’very important in the Giles household, you know. Dad likes to do business over breakfast, check in on everyone.” As he babbles he can see the moment Xander starts to remember, both the events of yesterday and the hangover that’s hammering away at the back of his eyes. “Course, he likes to have breakfast at around seven and since we didn’t want to wake you, you’ve missed that. Now come on, back over here, pet. Eat your breakkie and then we’ll figure out what we’re doing today, hm? There we go, that’s a good pet. Come on, now.”

It wasn’t unlike coaxing a nervous, abused animal, Xander responding to the combination of endearment and command as easily as he had the night before. He’s not thinking things through, yet, Spike knows; the way his eyes seem to circle as he nervously slides closer is a dead give away. He’s probably still drunk, actually—Spike would lay big money on Tony Harris’ son never touching a drop of alcohol before last night.

“So ... not a dream. Yesterday, I mean. With the ... selling.” Xander’s back on the right side of the bed, now warily eyeing the tray piled high with eggs and toast, bacon and a muffin, plus orange juice and a mug of hot tea—neither Giles enjoys coffee and will not have it in their house. Xander picks up a piece of toast like it’s going to bolt under his fingers. “My dad sold me. To you.”

“Actually, pet, Tony didn’t sell you—we’re gonna take that three thousand he thinks he’s getting and more out of his beer-soaked hide.” Certain Xander isn’t going to bolt—or kick him—Spike sits back down on the bed, hand on Xander’s thigh. “We talked to your mom last night, and Dad’s made a bunch of phone calls already. We won’t have a full answer for a few more hours, but things’ll work out all right. They usually do.”

The toast is nibbled for a few bites—and then vanishes with the fervor of a teenaged boy who has been on meager rations for far too long. The eggs are practically inhaled, bacon savored as an obvious favorite for afters. Xander’s focusing entirely on the food, as he should be, so it’s a surprise when he swallows everything and says, “The benefits of being rich, huh? I always knew money really did buy happiness.”

A bit of hardness, underneath all that nervous eager-to-please desperation. Good; Spike doesn’t like his toys to be pushovers, and Dad has requirements about the intelligence level of their playthings. They’ve done beautiful and brainless, of course—who hasn’t? But the ones that are more than an occasional fixture in their beds are as intelligent as they are pretty. “Not usually, pet, but it _does_ afford us the skills of a damned good lawyer.” One that has his own private investigator on permanent retainer—and leash, actually, but Xander doesn’t need to know how all in the family Gunn and Lindsey are yet. He’ll meet them soon enough. “Pet ... here, come on, precious, sit up a bit.”

Xander complies, cagey but still not objecting to the nicknames being so casually tossed his way. “What, no choking on the three-thousand count sheets? Yeah, sorry, manners were never big at the Harris house. I am toilet-trained, though, and am usually known to dress my very own self.”

Spike smiles, reaching forward to wipe away a crumb from the bottom of Xander’s lip. His hand ends up on the top of Xander’s thigh, thumb swiping up and down rhythmically. “Hardly, pet. Just wanted to let you know that we’ve contacted your mum.” The use of ‘mum’ instead of ‘Jessica’ is deliberate; he wonders if Xander will pick it up. “She’s why this is going to go so smoothly. She’s all for us adopting you until you’re sixteen.” Actually, she’s all for anything that gets her son out of Tony’s household and perhaps maybe taking her with him, but Xander doesn’t need to know _that_ yet, either. Jessica will be well compensated for allowing the legal proceedings to go through without any hitches for Gunn to flatten, and all Xander will know is that his mum is happy and healthy and is certain her son will be, too.

Xander accepts that information, ducking his head as he thinks it through. “She’s divorcing him?”

“Subpoena will be filed tomorrow.”

Xander’s teeth are very even and very white behind oddly-stretched out lips. He’s biting the lower one, absently gnawing on it. “Is he going to contest?”

Spike’s hand slips down a little, enjoying the stronger heat radiating against his skin. His hands area always so cold. “Shouldn’t. If he does, though, we can take care of it quick enough.” 

Nodding, Xander reaches for the final piece of bacon and toys with it absently. Subconsciously—at least, Spike thinks it is—this thighs widen, allowing Spike’s hand to slip down even a bit further. _Good boy_ , Spike thinks but does not say. That’s a little too much too soon—

The quiet knock Spike’s been expecting sends Xander jumping half out of his skin, face flushing bright red as he starts inching backwards. Spike just applies a little more pressure, scooting up enough that he’s half-shielding Xander with his body. “He’s awake, Dad,” he calls, favoring Xander with a wry smile. The boy is downright adorable when he blushes.

Dad is dressed in a suit and tie when he walks in, a sure sign that it’s time to go to court. “Good morning, boys. Have you had breakfast?”

Xander doesn’t nod, so Spike does it for him. “Ate _everything_ , Dad. Won’t have that leftover problem anymore, that’s for sure.”

“Really, Spike, must you be so thoroughly crass?” The long-suffering tone is designed to ease Xander into the more familial aspect of his new family—among other things. Dad doesn’t let digs go by, particularly easy ones like that. “I’ve got a meeting down at the court house this morning that’ll probably take hours. No, Xander, it’s not to do with you, please relax. I was just apologizing because I’d rather that I be shopping with you.”

“Shopping?” Xander’s eyes immediately flit to the ratty sneakers with the sole half-off, dawning hope like the sun coming from behind a cloud—and then abruptly shutters again. “Like, for leather restraints? Maybe a couple r-rings?”

“Actually, I was thinking pants without holes in them,” Dad replies without missing a beat, “and shirts that fit you properly. Your mother has told me that your wardrobe is... less than optimal, for a growing boy like yourself, and has given me a rather long list of things I should purchase for you. Unless you don’t want a... good lord, an _x-bag_?”

Spike chuckles, switching his hold to around Xander’s waist as he leans back against the bed. So Xander _isn’t_ as blind to what’s going on as he seems, but isn’t _objecting_ to any of it. Fascinating. Spike’s not sure they’ve ever had one this quick on the uptake. “Xbox, Dad, the new game-console? Right, never mind. Dad doesn’t get video games,” he tells Xander in an overly dramatic aside. “Thinks they’re a total waste of time. But don’t worry, pet. We’ve got a ton of places to hit, and Best Buy is near the top of the list. Need a tv in here, don’t you? Phone, maybe a better clock than this office-room thing you’ve got going on here. Some posters on the walls... ”

Xander’s eyes regain their sunrise hopefulness as Spike describes all the places he’s going to take Xander. “Really? I mean, um. I can’t pay for any of it.”

Both Giles men snort at the same time, surprising a laugh out of the boy. Spike pinches the bit of hip he’s got a hand on, smirking at Xander. “Prat. You’re a Giles, now. Not gonna spoil you _too_ rotten, but certain things are necessarily. Got a look to maintain as rich, snobby bastards, after all.”

“Besides,” Dad adds. “You’ll need some kind of reward after I introduce you to your private tutor.”

Xander groans, half-falling to the side so that he’s leaning on Spike. “I thought rich people didn’t care about school!” he says petulantly.

Dad snorts again, fussily checking his cufflinks so he doesn’t laugh in Xander’s face. “Xander Giles, I expect you, like Spike, to attend university and return with very high marks. That means a private tutor to determine your skill level and what your interests are, something that _will_ take place, young man. No son of mine is allowed to languish without discovering what his potential is—and if nothing else, there’s the business to run after I’m gone.”

“Oh, please, don’t go into Giles and Son—er, Sons—again,” Spike whines, mimicking Xander’s slump so he’s half-curled around the boy. Xander _looks_ completely relaxed, but Spike can feel the tension in his body; obviously, the boy is a decent actor. Not that that’s a surprise, with Tony for a father. “Go, get to bloody court. I’m taking my little brother shopping on your Am Ex an’ there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’d shudder, but I can’t in this suit.” Briskly approaching, Dad leans forward to brush a kiss on Xander’s forehead, tapping his cheek fondly. “There’s a cellphone downstairs waiting for you, pet. It’s got all the important numbers already plugged in. We’ll get you your own later, of course, but for now... ” Dad looks earnest, caressing the cheek he’d tapped. “Just in case you get separated, all right?”

“He’s fif-bloody-teen, Dad, not a five year old!”

“You hush. I did the same thing with you when you were that age.”

Spike rolls his eyes, suffering through the same forehead kiss and cheek-caress. “He really did,” he tells Xander as Dad picks up his brief case and waves goodbye. “He’s an overprotective git, Dad. Now, come on. Shower, jerk off, and then we’re heading to the mall.”

Xander manages _not_ to fall on his face when he stumbles, whirling around to stare at Spike. “Uh? You—I mean, you just—with the—” He grinds to a halt, shaking his head quickly. “Um, the closest mall is—”

“—at least an hour away, yeah, I know. So go get showered and dressed, so we can get out of here already!”

Blinking, Xander nods distractedly as he heads towards the adjoining bathroom. He must have gotten up sometime during the night, Spike surmises, laying fully on his back as he listens to the hiss of the shower turned on. The walls are fairly thick in the Giles home, but he’s so quiet that even his own breathing is barely noticeable: it happens after almost ten minutes of what can only be called luxuriating. The sharp gasp of air that has nothing to do with the water temperature changing, a rhythmic slap just slightly audible over the water, ignorable if one isn’t listening for the distinctive sounds. Spike smirks at the ceiling as he listens to his new baby brother obediently jerk off in the shower. He considers opening his pants and giving the boy a show when he comes out—but nah, save that for later when Xander’s more accustomed to what he’s been bought for.

Given the falsetto groan—harsh, for all its high pitch—as Xander comes, Spike pretty sure it won’t be a problem.

Spike listens as the electric razor is activated and teeth are brushed at least twice. He hears Xander dry his body and his hair, probably making the inky strands stand up straight from wet and effort. What he _doesn’t_ hear is Xander opening the door, not until there’s been at least five minutes of foot-shifting silence.

Finally, the door cracks open enough to release a mushroom of jasmine-scented steam. “Um. S-Spike? I forgot to bring my clothes in here.”

Spike doesn’t bother moving from his comfortable spot. “Wearing yesterday’s clothes, pet? Not on. There’s stuff you can borrow in the closet here. And before you ask, no, it probably won’t fit right since it’s stuff bought with somebody my size in mind. We do have a selection of boxers, though, so you don’t chafe the goodies.”

“Uh. Great. That’s really thoughtful of you. Um... could you maybe, um, give them to me?”

That prompts Spike to lift his head the tiniest amount, raising an eyebrow at Xander. “I’m your brother, pet,” he teases. “Not your servant. Go an’ get ’em your own self.”

Mentally counting, Spike registers Xander’s blush at three and his deep breath at seven—and by ten, he’s walking through the bedroom toward the dresser, clutching the towel so tightly around him that it leaves not a thing to the imagination. Spike pointedly says nothing—though he’s clearly watching—as Xander tears open the fresh pack of boxers and scrambles into them underneath the towel. He’s blushing down his belly as he fumbles through a shirt and jean combination from clothes hanging in the closet. It’s sad when he finally tugs the thin jumper over his torso, hiding the pretty view.

“Gotta wear these,” Spike says quietly, kicking over Xander’s old sneakers. “You don’t look half bad in those, so I think it’s shoes first. Ready?”

Silent, Xander nods. He’s trying to be silent as they walk down the stairs and outside, but his eyes are wide as they take in the house—it is done up proper, built to exact specifications for a year before they moved—and gradually, a word at a time, the babble starts. By the time they’re in the mall, it’s a torrent of words, observations and thoughts and pop-culture references Spike only understands 80% of that trail along behind them like puppies. Spike doesn’t mind it after the first few moments—Xander’s sarcastic and funny, particularly when he’s people watching, and his tastes are similar enough to Spike’s own that before long they’re in a spirited discussion about the new Nine Inch Nails album and why it isn’t nearly as good as any of the earlier ones, and what kind of music and dvds are already in the house so they know what not to repurchase.

The shoes are easy, as are the electronic goodies they both drool over. Xander twitches a little every time Spike pulls out his credit card, but it’s subtle enough that no one starts giving Spike the Sugar Daddy eye—he’s had it before, but that’s back in England. In the States, no one notices anything out of the ordinary, he’s discovered, not even if its being shoved into their faces. Makes living as they prefer much easier. Spike lets Xander’s whims drive their agenda, encouraging even the most casual of “maybe we can... ”, but after a while it’s clear that Xander’s stalling and Spike makes an executive decision.

They go to Areopostal. It’s _perfectly_ hideous, but Spike knows they have to cover all the basics and for normal jeans, dockers, and shirts its at least not as bad as the poseurs over at the Gap. “This is just the basics,” he tells Xander while loading up both their arms with different sizes and styles. He ignores it when Xander tries to tell him what his size actually is, watching only for the shuddery face Xander makes when he _really_ doesn’t like whatever Spike’s picked. Those reactions are silently catered to. “We’ll hit Hot Topic later, and save the fancy stuff for when the tailor comes over. Not sure you’re really an Armani type of boy. Think Versace might be a better look for you, but Francois will decide when he comes over.”

Xander blushes to the roots of his hair—as opposed to just looking mildly flushed the way he has been since they started looking at clothes—shifting awkwardly as several girls start listening to their conversation, the magical words _Armani_ and _Versace_ drawing them like magnets. Spike chuckles, taking pity on the boy and herding him into the dressing rooms.

Xander stammers a little when Spike closes the door with both of them inside the small room, but doesn’t actually produce any coherent words. His breathing is accelerated, though, and shudders a little on each exhale, fingers fumbling as he strips to his boxers and tries on the first pair of jeans—the size he claims he is.

Spike snorts the moment he sees the too-baggy dockers sag around Xander’s arse. “No way, pet. Far too lose. Try the ones two sizes smaller in the waist and longer in the leg, all right?”

“Two? Come on, Spike, I’m not _that_ starved.”

“No, but you’re a growing boy about to have another growth-spurt to take care of those puppy hands and feet of yours, which means you’ll be a bean pole for a bit. We’ll get you more when you fill out again.” Spike lets Xander get the pants on—which fit as well as he’s guessed—before sidling up behind him and smoothing his hands down Xander’s hips. “There now,” he croons. “These fit you much better.”

His hands come forward, cupping Xander’s groin and rearranging him under the zipper. Against him, Xander jerks, head going back as two more spots burn bright in his cheeks. Spike leans closer, letting Xander rest against him while stroking over the boy’s cock until it starts to twitch and swell up to meet his fingers. Spike’s mouth is right by Xander’s ear. “Look good this way, pet. Do you like it? Like the way they fit you, cupping you just so in the front,” his hands slide around to squeeze Xander’s buttocks, “and in the back?”

The boy makes the best noises as he tries to regain his breathing. “Cameras,” he squeaks.

Spike just grins, nipping the tantalizingly close earlobe. “Not in this store, pet.” But he steps back, allowing Xander to calm down a little before having him try on a few shirts to find the proper size, then the styles Xander looks best in. Once he’s got at least five of shirts and pants, they start hitting other stores. Spike is careful to keep Xander’s blush fiery, leading comments and the occasional fondle in the dressing room never letting him fully relax—until, suddenly, he does. Oh, he’s still blushing, ducking his head and squirming under Spike’s double-edged comments—but he’s not _tense_ anymore, relaxing into this new situation with the grace of a man many years older. It’s the kind of stop fighting and enjoy it mentality Spike’s used to his advantage before, but seeing it here is surprising.

Then again, he thinks as they pass a specialty liquor store and Xander shudders a little, maybe it’s not surprising at all.

They break for lunch, Xander’s babble resuming as he grows accustomed to the new realities and refuels. It’s clearly a defense tactic, but Spike doesn’t see any of the empty-eyed Stepford in Xander so perhaps it’s not merely just a tactic. That lets Spike match him nearly word for word as they finish up their shopping and Spike rings for Wesley to pick them up. Their bags have already been delivered to the limo, of course, so they don’t have to carry everything with them. Spike helps Xander inside with a hand on his back—still discussing why Doom is overrated—and then sidles up close. There’s tons of room in the square, leather-padded interior, but Xander doesn’t even blink as he’s held against Spike’s body, fingers flicking rhythmically over his hip the way one absently pets a cat.

“You look much better in these, pet,” Spike tells him. Wesley’s already buzzed back to explain there’s a traffic jam they’re stuck in, and Spike’s bored. Oh, he’s got tons of music, dvds, and books in the assorted bags in the trunk, but those are normal toys. Spike would much rather play with his new one. “Like a proper boy.”

“As opposed to an improper one?” Xander’s half-asleep, energy dwindling as they inch along the highway, crumbled cellophane wrapper still caught up in his fingers. He’d been totally surprised when instead of Spike chastising him for being hungry, he’d simply shown Xander the cooler with its stock of sandwiches, drinks, and other goodies. “I’ve always been a real boy, Mister Jimminy Cricket, sir.”

Spike removes the trash, tickling Xander’s palm as he does so. “Yes, but now you _look_ like one. It feels better, too, doesn’t it, pet? Warm and snug around you. You look _good_ , Xander. Now me, I’m always gorgeous,” Spike says, “but they were watching you, pet. I know you saw it.”

Xander blushes again—he’d managed to stop for a whole forty five minutes—shifting so that he’s resting against Spike’s chest. “Uh, I think they were staring at all the p-platinum you were flashing. And probably... ”

His fingers move up Xander’s arm, over his chest, to continue lightly tickling against Xander’s belly. “Probably?” Spike encourages. He abandons the tickling in favor of more outright stroking, letting the edge of his hand brush against the boy’s groin with each pass. “Probably staring at what, pet?”

“Th-the way you t-t-t—” Xander takes a deep, shaky breath, losing it into a gasp when Spike blatantly cups between his legs—not stroking anymore, just holding. “Never mind.”

Spike kisses Xander’s cheek. “So, how’s your first day as the newest and youngest Giles, hm?”

It takes a few moments for Xander to respond, Spike guessing that his gaze is locked on the hand cupped possessively around his groin. “Uh. Um, fun, I g-guess? I mean, being spoiled is always fun, and we aren’t going to get in trouble for spending all the money, are we? I mean, you bought me an lcd tv!”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise it takes up too much room.” So light as to be almost imperceptible, Spike begins to rub his thumb along the side of Xander’s cock. “And please, pet. You’re a _Giles_. This is just a drop in the bucket.” Spike presses his thumbnail through the thin dockers, fairly certain that he’s positioned it right below the head.

Xander gasps sharply, twitching in Spike’s hold. “Um! I mean... it isn’t of-ficial, though, is it? Me a G-G-Giles.”

“End of the week, pet.” A dark spot is forming on Xander’s brand new dockers. He can sense Xander’s need to squirm, unhappy with ‘ruining’ the clothes, so Spike distracts him by nibbling on Xander’s temptingly close earlobe again. “Now, then. Got anything you want to do, tonight? We could stay home, watch movies with Dad. That’s always fun; if you think _I’m_ sarcastic, you should hear Dad when he’s really going. Could call your friends, too, let ’em know you’re all right. Your mum, if you want.”

Xander’s cock is now a thickened tube down his right thigh, his hips twitching uncontrollably as Spike strokes him. He’s having trouble taking a proper breath, sucking in oxygen before forcefully expelling it again. “I—um. C-can I call Willow? She worries if I don’t check in.”

So someone actually knows what goes on in the Harris household? Surprising. Still stroking the boy through his pants, Spike extracts the cell phone in the pocket of Xander’s knew coat and holds it out. “Call her, then.”

“Now?!”

He can’t help himself from chuckling at the squeak of horror, even as Xander bucks up into Spike’s touch. “Yes, now. No reason to wait, is there? School’s out, by now.”

Xander settles against him slowly, grumbling under his breath. “You’re evil,” he accesses, grabbing the phone and dialing it even as he squirms. His voice is just a touch breathless as he speaks, but _only_ a touch especially the moment this Willow picks up. The conversation is confusing to follow, full of references Spike has no context for, but Xander repeatedly assures her that he’s okay and he’ll explain it all as soon as he gets a chance. Willow—shrill, despite an unusually deep voice for a girl—lectures him fiercely about not leaving her to worry like that and missing school. Xander promises to make it up to her.

“I’ve, uh, got a private tutor.”

“Really?” Willow pings through emotions so quickly Spike is getting mental whiplash. “Oh, Xander, that’s great! I knew you didn’t really want to be a slacker forever.”

Xander doesn’t laugh, though his body trembles like he wants to. “Nope, no slacking in the Xand man’s future. So, everything okay? What’d you do in school today?”

Her babbling—lord, she’s worse than Xander—fills the rest of the ride. Oh, Spike could interrupt the call if he wants to but it’s interesting to hear this side of his new baby brother. He picks up little things, like how a friend has recently moved away and Willow has been worried about Xander’s mental health, and that there’s more to it than simply losing a friend on Xander’s side. About the teachers Xander doesn’t like, the subjects he’s not so good at, and all the things normal fifteen year old boys are supposed to think about.

It’s so enthralling that Spike forgets to do more than hold Xander as they finally break free of the traffic jam and finally make it home.

“Okay, Wills, I’m back. Yes, really. Shopping. The next time you see me, I will be spiffy enough that even Cody will stop mocking me for being a rag-bin reject. Honest. Willow, I had girls _looking_ at me in the mall. Yes, I know, skipping school to go to the mall is bad, but there’s a reason. No, I can’t tell you yet. Oh, hey, come on, Wills, no pouty face over the phone! You know I can’t resist that! No, don’t come over tonight. I’m, uh. Not really at home. No, it’s a _good_ thing. Really and truly. A really good thing.”

Wesley brings the bags inside, taking them upstairs to put away. Spike leads Xander into the family room by the hand, tugging him back into nearly the same position as they finally reach the sofa. It takes another few minutes to finally click the phone off, but by then Xander is bright-eyed and smiling so Spike counts it as a gain. He flips on the television. “Dad’ll be back in a few hours, probably.”

“Didn’t he say he’d be gone just the morning?”

“Yeah, but he’s at court. The day a trial starts on time is the day I start wondering if the sky’s gonna turn bright fuchsia.” Spike finds a movie with enough explosions and leaves it there. Xander fidgets a little as the movie plays, making the occasional comment but mostly just... squirming. Rocking his body against Spike’s as he tries to get comfortable. He’s _not_ trying to bother Spike, keeping the movement as unobtrusive as possible.

Safely above him where Xander can’t see, Spike smiles. Casually, Spike takes a full ten minutes before his hand is again cupping Xander’s cock, thighs helpfully widening in welcome. Xander settles after that, actually getting into the movie and trading mocking comments with Spike. Dad finds them like that, seating himself on Xander’s other side and draping Xander’s legs over his lap.

“Did you both have a good day today?” he asks as the movie bleeds into the evening news. “Wesley tells me there’s over a thousand dollars of merchandise upstairs, and that doesn’t include the new television.”

Xander immediately flushes, going very still. Spike rolls his eyes at Dad, shifting enough that he can smooth his palm down more firmly. “Expecting more, were you?”

“Oh, yes. I know what you’re like when _you_ shop, William, and you do enjoying spoiling people.” Dad grins down at Xander, who’s still tense like he’s about to bolt. “Relax, Xander, please. I’m not at all upset. Okay?” Dad rubs his thumb over Xander’s lower lip, leaning forward to kiss his forehead again. “Relax, please. You are very welcome here, young Xander, and I want you to feel comfortable. And speaking of, I’m certain you’re hungry. You’re a growing boy and I know from experience when I say those are _always_ hungry.”

Xander grins, ducking his head shyly as Dad heads into the kitchen. “Um. It really is okay, right?” he asks Spike as the sound of pots and pans clanging together rises above the local reporters talking about nothing. “That we s-spent so much m-m-money?”

Spike kisses the top of Xander’s head. “Pet, this is the _first_ time we’re shopping together, and Dad knows it. We’ve a lot more things to buy over the next few weeks, as you settle in and start realizing what it is you’ve needed and forgot. This was just the first round of damages and we didn’t spend near as much as a Dad was expecting—trust me, little brother, you’ll know when Dad’s really pissed off and this isn’t it. Okay, pet?”

Xander nods, relaxing back into Spike’s body. “It’s just all weird. I’m allowed to be at least a little wigged out, right?”

Chuckling, Spike wraps his other arm around Xander’s waist, rubbing his belly. “Sure are, pet. Been a very good boy about all of this, really. A very grown up little boy, not making a fuss or anything.”

The blush sends a wave of heat through Spike’s shirt and he can’t help but use the belly-scritching hand to brush against Xander’s darkly flushed face. It’s fiery against the backs of his fingers and Spike doesn’t move for a moment, reveling in the boy he’s chosen. Then he runs a thumb down Xander’s lower lip, exactly like Dad did—and is utterly unsurprised when Xander’s tongue flickers out to touch it for just a moment.

“Dinner,” Dad calls after a moment. Fred is around, Spike’s sure, but Dad does enjoy cooking so it’s not surprising when he sees him wearing a Kiss the Cook apron and bearing a steaming plate to the table. Spike again leads Xander by the hand, seating him in the proper chair before Xander can ask which of the eight possibilities he should pick.

Dinner is simple—baked chicken, vegetables, a salad, and a loaf of bread. Spike fills up first his plate and then Xander’s, pointedly scooping another few vegetables onto the plate before handing it back to the boy.

“It’s very important you eat those,” Dad says when Xander makes a face at all the green on his plate. “We Giles men take our vitamins and make sure we’re regular without the help of those horrid over the counter products.” Dad grins with both younger men make faces and ewww noises. “Go on, Xander. Eat them all, please.”

Xander nods, eating them without more fuss. He clearly is not happy about it, but a stern look from Dad melts most of his visible disgust and he finishes his plate quickly, even asking for seconds—which Spike again fills for him, rather than letting Xander do it himself. Dinner is a quiet affair, Dad slowly introducing Xander to the Giles business, peppered with family anecdotes and the occasional asides with Spike designed to distract and reassure the boy. By the desert course Xander is swaying at the table, trying to keep his eyes from falling shut.

Spike and Dad stare at each other for a moment. After a moment, Spike rises. “I’m gonna clean up. Pet, why don’t you go show Dad some of the things you’ve bought? Pet? Xander.” He doesn’t say the name loudly, not wanting to startle Xander out of his half-doze. Cupping Xander’s cheek, Spike runs his thumb over Xander’s lower-lip again until Xander’s eyes focus. “Sleepy, love? Come on. Go show Dad what we’ve bought, and then we’ll put you to bed. Go on now, love. Go with Dad.”

Spike watches them go up the stairs, smiles, and starts washing. If he hurries, he won’t miss much.


End file.
